


Unconsolable

by slasher_abyss



Series: ♡ Stabby Men Pretty ♡ [1]
Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gore, I am a slasher whore, NSFW, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, are you done reading these tags yet?, gimme more of thick boy, literally just the constant mention of blood, since i had to split it up on Tumblr, slasher x reader - Freeform, this is the whole work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 23:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slasher_abyss/pseuds/slasher_abyss
Summary: “Show me where it hurts.”Thomas's eyes are wide and he makes an unintelligible noise that sounded like a question, his eyes involuntarily flick down to your lips and his fingers twitch against the soft surface your cheek. His grip is firmer now and you wait for that sign that he wants what you are about to do.





	Unconsolable

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Show me where it hurts.”  
> (I feel like it's easier for ya to just to read it than for me to summarize it)  
> Warnings: Smut, gore, unhealthy relationships (Hoyt, do I need to say much else?) mentions of self-harm.  
> Words: 5400+  
> . . .

Your favorite time of day was when the early evening would start to meld into night time. Mostly because it was when the sweltering heat finally began to relent, and the temperatures dropped to a still humid but comfortable level, at least for you. That and the Hewitt house was always a bit quieter around this time, no shouting, no fighting, and most importantly no screaming.

You particularly liked that last part. Gore was something you had to desensitize yourself with living with this family, and while you’ve never considered yourself particularly squeamish, it was still quite terrifying to see other humans torn apart and then put on your dinner plate— a lot of the time just a day after. But you pulled through like you always did. 

Before you met the Hewitts you were quite the bird of passage, never staying in one place for too long before you were up and out on the road again. You’ve driven through and had temporary residences in countless states, motels were lifesavers— and most were easy on your wallet too, you have met all kinds of people throughout your travels up and down states. You weren’t the social type per se, but you’ve certainly run into some interesting folks, but none quite as ‘unique’ as the Hewitts of Travis County.

You’d been driving along a route in Texas just some miles away from a rest stop you had skipped over when you were pulled over by Sheriff Hoyt. Wow, what an episode that had been, he was relatively docile a first but you had soon realized his two-faced nature when you refused to get out of your car. You were running on two-hours of a back seat nap and two cups of cheap coffee, and definitely not in the mood for his shenanigans. So you protested rather harshly to his claim of you going well over the speed limit, to which you ended up cuffed and face-down in the back seat of his police car, shouting curses and threats as quickly as you could spit the words out.

You certainly got quiet when instead of being taken to the station, Hoyt took you to a house and dragged you inside. You had heard of bad-cop stories in books and TV but this was a whole new can of worms you didn’t want to crack open, you hadn’t even been meaning to stay in Texas for fuck's sake! You had a job interview in two days in the next state, you were simply dropping off a travel buddy of yours that got a gig there!

In the end, Thomas, Luda Mae’s youngest son had taken a liking to you and seeing how serious he’d been regarding your safety Luda let you live. You were just another meal to most of the Hewitts for a long time, they grew used to you and you to them after the first rocky couple of months of your stay here. You had everything to thank Thomas for, but that wasn’t really your style, you simply showed your appreciation quite similarly to the way he did. Your actions always had a louder voice than your own, and so you thanked him by spending time with him.

You sat in the basement very often after getting over your initial fear of it, just to keep him company as he worked. You can tell he appreciates it too, and he especially likes it when you talked to him while he split tendons and slabs of meat, it was a change from the usual silence he suffered in. And you spoke so passionately about everything you loved, especially travel, he loved listening to you ramble about different states and places you been to. He never got to experience that, he hasn’t left this house in a long time.

Currently, you sat in a chair in the basement watching Thomas work, you were placed far enough away to avoid catching splatters of blood when he hit particularly large blood vessels that liked to gush or spray when cut. But you were close enough for him to hear you talk, and you could catch any grunts or noises of inquiry when they rose from the towering man you dared to call your closest friend. When you were constantly on the road and meeting new people, you were always afraid of talking too much or boring people to death with things they didn’t care to hear.

But with Thomas, you never had to worry about all that stuff. You could ramble on for hours and he’d still attentively listen as if every word that spilled from your lips were a vital detail. And the times you would cut yourself off or sputter out an apology for talking too much or trailing off topic, he simply shook his head and urged you to continue. It never mattered what the topic or reason was, he was content with having someone who actually wanted to be around him, let alone speak to him!

In a way, your chattiness went hand in hand with his lack thereof. He preferred to listen, and even if he did wish he could speak properly, he doubted it would have changed much.

Thomas is particularly distant today, quieter than normal— sure he didn’t talk, but he made small noises of affirmation or responses that let you know what he was trying to say. You’d be lying if you said you were unsure of why, you had heard Hoyt screaming at him earlier, and not just as he did normally. The sheriff was especially frustrated from getting duped by a van of ‘hippie motherfuckers’ that got away, and when he was in these moods he often took his anger out on Thomas.

But Hoyt was cutting deep today, spitting out all the nasty insults and the ‘ugly cards’ that you could tell bothered the poor man the most. Thomas was used as Charlie’s doormat daily, but when you came along you started standing up for him, subtly, normally with passive aggressive side comments to divert Hoyt’s attention to you. You could take Hoyt’s shit talking, whatever got him off of Tommy’s back for even a little while.

You jumped upon hearing the abrupt sound of steel clammering to the basement floor, and Thomas let out a frustrated grunt hunching over the table not caring that blood is beginning to stain his rolled up sleeves. You stop talking immediately and hop to your feet and approach him cautiously, you hesitate when you first reach for him, unsure of how to go about this. What was wrong? Did he accidentally hurt himself? Your worry overrules your reluctance and you grip Thomas’s shaking bicep— since you can’t reach his shoulder. He barely responds to the light touch.

“Tommy… ?”

You receive no response, and your brows knit together forming a crease between them as your concern deepens. Your immediate instinct is to check for injuries, did he slice his hand open by accident? You slide a palm down his arm and wrestle for his hand, Thomas is confused when you begin checking his hands, turning them over and examining them as if expecting them to spontaneously gush out blood.

Coming to the conclusion that he isn’t physically hurt you stare up into his brown eyes with a look holding more concern than he is ready to see.

“What’s wrong, Thomas?” You know he can’t answer you directly, but it doesn’t stop you from asking anyway. All you know is he’s hurting, and it was quite obviously an emotional pain. You wanted to get rid of that, you didn’t want him to hurt.

Thomas’s eyes are wide and doe-like, caught off guard and unsure of what to do. It’s a helpless vulnerable kind of look that you might see in the eyes of a mouse faced with a predator just waiting to devour it. You highly doubt anyone’s ever asked if he was emotionally ‘okay’ or if there was something bothering him. If any the stories Luda Mae told you of his childhood had anything to say about it, he likely didn't have the leisure of a friend to tell everything. The more you thought about it the more your heart began to swell painfully with sympathy for this unbearably misguided man.

“You can tell me anything.” You are pulled into a bone-crushing hug and your face is forced into Thomas’s bulging collarbone, but you are already wrapping your smaller arms around his large frame to hold him and twist the fabric of his shirt in your clutch. He’s shaking more, his masked face buried in the expanse of your hair. The leather strap he wore over his lower face and jaw pressing onto your slick forehead and making the hair stick to the damp skin there. “Tommy.”

Thomas whines in questioningly in a weak-sounding whimper, and you assume that he had acknowledged your plea for his attention. You are going to regret this most likely, but this is the only way you can think of to comfort him. 

“Tommy, look at me.” You softly demand and with a pause and a defeated sigh he complies, glossy brown orbs staring sullenly into your own, it’s almost heartbreaking to see the pain he holds in his eyes. You bring your hands up to his face and trace the lines that mark where skin meets leather, cupping his cheeks in your soft palms and brushing your thumbs over the exposed parts of his cheekbones.

He's trembling slightly under your touch, it felt like he’d shatter if you weren't careful. You were very aware of the fact that one wrong move could cause him to push you away, you were trusting your gut to do the right thing.

“Is this about what Hoyt said?” Thomas gives you a pained look, like a kicked puppy, but you can tell that's not quite it. Close though. And then it hits you, you remember overhearing Hoyt screaming at him through the floorboards in your room.

Somewhere in his episode, he’d said something about you. You didn't think much of it at the time, much more annoyed with the noise and concerned for your friend, but now it made sense. You remember Charlie yelling something along the lines of—

_“Oh, I’m wait’n for the day Y/N sees your ugly ass face, maybe then she won’ protect ya so much!”_

You frown after recalling it, and a dark puddle of guilt settles in the pit of your stomach, like sluggish rainwater in a drain. Was he afraid you’d stop standing up for him if you saw what he really looked like? Or worse, did he think you would leave? The idea displeases you enough to set fire to the thought and watch it burn. You would never leave him behind, you cared too much about him.

“Is it that he said I'd stop defending you if I saw your face?”

Thomas flinches and after a pause he nods dejectedly, avoiding your eyes when he felt them center on his face— what he was so worried about you seeing.

“Thomas, don't listen to him okay?” You ask and as you wished, his eyes met yours again. “I don't care what you look like, I would never leave you or anyone here because of that.”

Thomas looks skeptical and ready to reel back, not believing you really wouldn't care about his face, why wouldn't you? He was terrifying to look at, and you would agree if you knew. He starts to pull away but stops when you tighten your grip on him, you weren't about to let him run away from you.

“You don't believe me? Do you?”

Thomas shakes his head but doesn't try to move away again, for some reason you want him there. And since it's always been difficult denying your touch he struggles with his own mind. You take his face in your hands again, and for a moment he is terrified that you were going to try and take his mask off, but you don't. You notice his sudden panic, and hug him closer instead, resting your forehead against his chest.

“I don't say this to just anyone, Tommy, so I need you to believe me.” Thomas stares down at you curiously as you gathered your courage, he waits for you to continue your thought. 

“Your face doesn’t define you, Thomas, that’s not what matters to me. You could not have a face at all and I’d still care about you. I won’t leave because your face is different, I stick around because of _this_.”

You place a hand over his heart, which stutters under your palm at the touch. It's incredibly personal and intimate, it almost makes it hard to breathe. Your face flushes red with color, a clear symbol of your embarrassment, you were not used to being so soft. The meaning begins to sink in, and suddenly Thomas understands, he’s starting to shake with the effort of keeping back an emotional outburst. You are then squeezed tighter than he’s ever held you before, and even though you’re struggling to push air through your lungs you don't tell him to stop.

You think he’s relieved and to an extent he is, but there’s something else, there is something more that is scratching and clawing at his mind. He’s still hurting over something, you don't know what it is but you don't need to. Your hand that still lays over his rapidly beating heart closes and your fingers grip at his shirt instead, he’s no doubt smearing blood on your clothes but you let him. But the pressure around your ribs was getting rather uncomfortable, your breathing came in quiet pants as you stripped your mind for a solution that wouldn't hurt his feelings.

An idea strikes you and you act upon it without a second thought, you used your free hand to lift it to his face. You had to stretch and push up off of your heels to reach with the height difference. Luckily his head was buried in your shoulder so you could reach him easier than you could have when he stood at his full height.

Your fingertips skimmed past his cheek to tangle in Thomas’s hair, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp and running your fingers through his greasy but soft locks. Thomas shudders and his grip around you loosens, he lets out a content sigh and closes his eyes at the unfamiliar sensation. You tug lightly on his hair urging him to look up at you, wanting his undivided attention for what you were about to say.

He reluctantly removes his face from your now damp neck and looks into your eyes again as you blink up at him with an expression he can't quite place. You inhale deeply and take one of his huge hands and try to ignore the white scars of self-harm he no doubt had done in earlier years. You open his palm and press it to your face, eyes remaining fixed on Thomas’s confused but curious ones. 

You were giving him permission to touch you.

“Show me where it hurts.”

Thomas's eyes are wide and he makes an unintelligible noise that sounded like a question, his eyes involuntarily flick down to your lips and his fingers twitch against the soft surface your cheek. His grip is firmer now and you wait for that sign that he wants what you are about to do.

That’s where the pain is, and you’re ready to make him forget.

In one swift movement you lean up as you tug him down until your lips collide against his in a hurried press of flesh, it's clumsy and sloppy but it's so good at the same time. Thomas practically melts into a puddle and whines against your lips, Thomas’s other hand slides from around your back to cup your face as well trying to push you impossibly closer. You ease him into a deeper kiss sliding your tongue across his thick bottom lip, he startles a bit unsure of what to do.

You coax out his own tongue with some effort and drag your wet muscle along his own. He's timid at first but the moment he realizes how good it feels that's when he starts responding more, mirroring your movements. You break apart frequently to breathe but it's not long before one or the other is going in for more. Your breath mixes with his own and saliva sticks in thin strings every time your lips part.

This is wrong, you shouldn't be doing this, it's too soon, too much. But you need this, need him. And a little birdy tells you he might need this just as much, the way he's clinging to you now hints that he's been thinking of this for a while. Any worry that he wasn’t as into this as you were halted abruptly when you felt a mass growing and pressing against your stomach, he was already half-hard from what you could feel through your clothing and you’d only made out! A definite confidence booster on your part, but you can tell he notices his own predicament when he shies away, his eyes darting away from your face as if ashamed.

You decide to reassure him by wrapping both arms around his neck and hiking up one of your legs to settle at his hip, simultaneously giving yourself enough leverage to push your hips against his. This draws a harsh intake of breath and then a quiet groan from Thomas who is all but swimming in the sensation of friction against his member, his hands drop from your face and slide under your thighs, hoisting you up off the ground. The action surprises you enough that you gasp and wrap your other leg around his waist as he holds you up like you weighed nothing at all. It gives you the boost you need to capture his lips again as he sets you down on his work table.

You don’t care if there’s blood staining your shorts, you’re sure as hell aren’t going to complain. His thick hands remain situated at your waist and hips, squeezing and rubbing circles over your stomach, he wants to touch more of you but is afraid that you might not want it. You take his hands in your own and guide them up to your breasts, a blatant invitation for him to touch you. Thomas groans throatily against your lips, hands squeezing around your mounds and his hips press into yours, grinding his hardened bulge against your dampening core. The friction draws a deep moan from you that vibrates against Thomas’s lips, encouraging him to do more, to feel more of you.

“Mhnn… fuck you’re doing so good.” You find yourself murmuring and the motion of his hips stutter and his breath hitches at your praise, he lets out an agonized whine and presses himself still harder against you. You let out a sigh that melts into a gasp as he hits at just the right spot and your legs lock around his hips to keep the bulging shape at that angle.

It’s getting unbearably hot down here with both the heat of your intimacy and the damp air of the basement, you can feel the sweat dripping down your back and making the fabric of your shirt stick uncomfortably to your skin. You need to shed some layers now before you overheat.

You move your face from his neck where you had been attacking the exposed flesh of, leaving dark marks from your teeth and trails of saliva from your tongue. You push on his shoulders and lean back, and he jumps his hands jolting away, already starting to back up thinking he’s done something wrong. You catch his wrists before they get too far though and meet his eyes sheepishly.

“You’re fine, Tommy— I’m just gonna die If I don't take this off.” You joke exasperatedly, sounding breathless but it reassures him. You reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it up and over your head, tossing it somewhere else and sighing at the decrease in body-heat. Thomas is drinking in every inch of your newly exposed skin, clenching his teeth together when he watches a drop of sweat dribble down your chest and down your front. You figure ‘oh hell with it, it’s gotta come off anyways’ and with a few snaps of your wrists your bra joins your shirt on the floor, your breasts fill out without the compression of it and Thomas’s eyes go almost comically wide.

You’re suddenly a bit shy in your semi-nakedness, your face turning redder as his brown eyes skim over every inch of flesh, his gaze constantly flickering back up to your face though as if assuring himself you are still okay with him looking. Swallowing down your nervousness you let go of his wrists and pull him closer to you, his hands press themselves against your bare breasts without coaxing this time and your eyes flutter open and closed again at the feeling of being touched. 

A hum of approval leaves your smiling lips and you rest both palms over his chest, gripping his tie and beginning to undo it, to which he doesn’t protest and his blood-stained apron is the next thing to go. He moves a hand away from your bosom to help you with the buttons of his shirt but you swat them away and finish the job yourself.

You push his button-down op and run a hand down his chest, not bothering to remove the shirt completely in case you were walked in on. There's a lot to admire and you do so appreciatingly as he explores your plush chest, you suddenly become hyper-aware of his erection rubbing up against your heat and are overcome with the urge to speed things up. You were aching for him to be inside you already, clenching around nothing. You could tell Thomas was getting quite impatient as well when his hands slide down to your hips and the way his fingers dug into your skin.

You made quick work of your shorts and Thomas has already pulled his length out of his pants that had grown much too uncomfortable, so when you were pressed up against each other once again you could feel his impressive girth rubbing against your inner thighs and up against your soaking wet center still covered in your damp panties. You spot a chair in one of the corners of the basement and get an idea, you slide off of the surface luckily having been sitting in a particularly dry spot and lead him over to it. 

You push him down into it and eagerly got rid of your uncomfortably wet underwear, before straddling his lap. It’s better this way so you have the most control, you doubt he’s had any sort of sexual experience with anyone before you so it’s best you take the lead. Thomas moans and bucks against your heat as it glides over his throbbing dick, panting heavily into your hair as you maneuver yourself over his lap to get into a comfortable position. Once you are situated above his stiff cock you look him in the eyes and drawl out a familiar phrase.

“Show me where it hurts.” You say and his hands grip around your thighs his hips thrusting up slightly, it’s a painful effort to keep himself still, but he wants you to have control over the situation so he doesn’t hurt you. Thomas squeezes the flesh around your thighs and breaths out a whine that sounds a hell of a lot like ‘please’, and your resolve breaks.

You lower your hips and slowly ease his length inside of you, the stretch of your walls as they move to accommodate him feels surprisingly good. Your eyes cross for a second, going out of focus as you finally reach the base and give yourself time to adjust to his size and process just what you’re feeling. Thomas lets out a strangled moan at the overwhelming feeling of being inside you for the first time, his head tilts back and he growls with the effort of remaining still for you. He’s never felt anything like it before, you’re incredibly warm and wet, and tight, so much so that he struggles not to come from just being inside your spasming heat.

You come around at the sound he makes and your eyes focus on his face to see how he is feeling, his eyes are squeezed shut and what you can see of his face is contorted in pleasure. You’ve never considered your sexual appetite necessarily vanilla, but that _look_ all but destroys you. Your insides relax around after a while and Thomas has properly adjusted to the feeling enough so that he isn't afraid of finishing too quickly, his fingers slide up to your hips and his thumbs rub soothing circles into the skin of your abdomen. You’re truly impressed by his patience and melting under the rough pads of his fingertips.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and begin to lift yourself up again, your walls resisting, trying to hold on to him. You slowly let yourself sink back down onto his cock and you both groan at the pleasure it causes, you repeat the action and build up a slow rhythm moving around until you find an angle that suits you both. Thomas is shaking beneath you, his eyes watching your every move as you bounce atop him, but whines and starts thrusting up to meet your pace, trying desperately to speed it up. You laugh huskily and wrap your arms around his thick neck, not in the mood to tease him during his first time but still wanting to keep him interacting with you.

“You want more?” You ask, not teasingly, just to talk since you’ve noticed how your voice affects him. He nods frantically, smothering a moan as he fidgets restlessly. You happily oblige him, grounding your knees on the arms of the chair and starting to move faster against him, using more force. Thomas wraps his strong arms around your waist and holds you still, taking over the workload as he eagerly thrusts up into your heat, his head falling forwards to rest against your chest.

You appreciate the break it gives your weakening legs as they turn to gelatin under the intense shocks of ecstasy that begin to take over your body in dense waves, your fingers tangle in Thomas’s hair and tug gently. This causes him to release a louder groan and his thrusts become still harder, spurred on by the contact, you figure he likes his hair pulled. Your breath starts to speed up into heavier pants as your orgasm approaches rapidly, your head falling back and your restrained vocal cords letting out a stream of obscene noises.

You can tell Thomas is getting close too because his hip movements start to get uneven and sloppy, frantic even as he chases his own release, letting out a string of loud grunts and whimpers against your collarbone. He bends forward slightly, hunching over so his mass engulfs you and the angle it creates sends you into a frenzy, walls clamping down hard around him when his stomach brushes against your clit. Your vision flashes white and your hands scramble for purchase as one of the biggest orgasms you’ve ever experienced rips through you.

Your heat tightening around him and your obvious pleasure as you moan his name drags him down under the waves of pleasure as he comes, eyes rolling in their sockets and his jaw dropping as he whimpers and lets out a long groan against your breast. He spills inside of you, filling your insides with his pent up release and warming you up in a way you’ve never felt before. His hips thrust weakly riding out both of your orgasms to completion, reveling in the aftershocks.

You sigh dreamily into the crook of his neck, sated, and smiling like a fool. This man was yours now. after that nothing confirms your feelings for him more, you weren’t taking no for an answer. Thomas breathes heavily into your own shoulder as the two of you recover, basking in the afterglow. He has never felt this relaxed, this… happy. He doesn’t care about what he was sulking over before, that didn’t matter anymore, all he can think about now is how he never wants to let go of you.

Thomas leans back in the stiff chair that surprisingly held up under all of that stress, you lean back as well and start to lift your hips up to let him slide out but his hands grip your hips and keep them in place. You huff with a smile and link your hands together around his neck leaning forward to kiss him briskly, to which he sighs contently after. His grip on you loosens and you pull up again his hips jerk up a centimeter from the overstimulation and you gasp softly slapping his arm, he grunts and gives you an apologetic look.

You let his softening length slide out of you and sit back down on his lap, his cum already beginning to leak out of you. You yawn and stretch on top of him and then press your forehead against Thomas’s when he looks at you, already starting to look shy again as anxiety swirls in his brown eyes. You smile and kiss his forehead, and reluctantly slide off his lap standing on wobbly legs as he follows you.

“I think we should head upstairs for bed—” You trail off as you yawn again, smiling tiredly up at him. Thomas nods and you both start getting dressed again, though the process was slower than it should’ve been because you kept getting distracted with embraces from behind and small kisses. Eventually, though, you’re dressed and heading upstairs.

Charlie eyes you smugly as he watches you two emerge from the basement, almost as if he knew something you didn’t, not missing the fact that you were holding Tommy’s hand as you lead him upstairs.

You stop at your door and hesitate, you turn back to Thomas who eyes you curiously.

“Do you wanna sleep with me tonight?” He nods eagerly, and you grin pulling him into your room trying to stifle a giggle. You change into more comfortable clothes to sleep in which was just a long shirt, and your underwear, it was way too fuckin’ hot for much else in Texas honestly. And it’s not like you’re embarrassed around Thomas anymore, even before tonight he’s seen you pantsless.

Thomas sheds a few layers and but hesitates before crawling on top of the covers with you, you look up at him and see him playing with the ends of his leather strap. You sit up and walk on your knees to him, you finger the ends of the mask yourself looking him in the eyes.

“You don’t need to wear this around me anymore, okay?” Thomas grips your wrists, still nervous. And you narrow your eyes and tilt your head. “Unless you need me to convince you again, Tommy.”

It’s a horrible threat, and you know it, and Thomas smiles despite himself upon hearing it. His grip loosens and he takes a deep breath as you peel it from his face. You set the mask down on the bedside table and cup each of his cheeks with your palms and press a gentle kiss to his lips, you don’t linger on his features too long, his nose has rotted away and left a hole exposing his sinuses. Some chunks of flesh are missing elsewhere, but he is still undeniably beautiful, just different. You a scatter more kisses across his entire face, reducing him to teary giggles as you express your acceptance of him.

Finally, he joins you on the thin comforter you never use, and you curl up together. You just stare lazily at each other for a while, your fingers brushing through his hair as his hands rub your sides. But soon your drowsiness starts to pull you under and you murmur out one last thing before you doze off.

“G’night, Tommy.”

. . .


End file.
